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The first 500 miles: Driving, Dickey's, Delays and Donna's house - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
The first 500 miles: Driving, Dickey's, Delays and Donna's house
Safely in Merlin for the night. I got on the road out of Rochester a little earlier than last year after a few quick stops there and a run out to Emily's. I brought her Orphan Black disks and a bra she'd left in the laundry area. Many hours later, surrounded by geeks at a sci-fi con, this led to speculation of what an Orphan Black bra would look like.

"It'd have 24 cups.

Helena's would be extra large to feed her bebbies.

Alison's would come out of the wash all full of glitter and soap.

Cosima would have a couple with real awesome science features.

Tony's would've been damaged during the surgery.

You thought it was cruel poking Rachel's EYE out?!?"

Yes, we just do this at these things.

First, though, I had to get there. Which was its usual good, bad and ugly self.


I remembered a spot for lunch near Cortland, which I'd been to once at one of its Connecticut locations on the 2012 edition of this trip:


Good eats, plus a souvenir cup with DICKEY'S on it I can ask John Barrowman to sign. In Cockeysville, Maryland. Plus, as with the date in 2012, R .A. Dickey was scheduled to pitch in New York that night. For the Blue Jays. Who did, indeed beat the Yankees.

I got outta there before 2 and hoped to make it into PA by 3 and out before 6. It's not THAT big of a state. And through Scranton-Wilkes Barre, across 80 and closing in on Harrisburg, not a single lane closure, massive accident or other bump in my road....

Until I hit the Ravine.

Curse PENNDOT. Fry them with the heat of a thousand suns. I expected this. I checked ahead for online advisories (there were none) and for roadsign warnings (all clear) until just past the Last Chance exit came the sign: Oh. You might've wanted to take the detour at the exit back THERE. (Yes, there's a posted detour. PA interstates have one permanently posted at every exit. They're color-coded.)

I'd arrived in Dead Stop, PA.

Ten miles of single Jersey-bariered lane. No active work zone. No accidents. Best as I can tell, just one trucker who couldn't shift for shit on the uphills. Close to an hour later, it finally cleared, and no worse ones followed I was at Chez Donna round 7:30 and we made it for first-night fun right before the Luna-C show started at 9.

Not without some spook, though. On the way, Tink told ghost stories about a longago friend who shared a home with a Colonial ghost named Charlie. So when I checked for wifi at the convention hotel, one of the first dropdown choices was "Charlie's Phone."


But yay for the comedy. Although my two friends in the group weren't there this time, they riffed on all the usual sci-fi victims- including Yoda training Spock, a commercial for Mace, and my Torchwoody favorite:


This can't be! Two of you! In the same time stream! It's a paradox!

No, it's a pair of Jacks

Also, plenty of fish puns, replicated Jaynes, regenerating Doctors and possibly an Alan Partridge somewhere.

I meet Barrowman at 10 and one of my favorite writers (from my high school, which is when I last saw him) at noon. The Mets also won and, with one more win or Nationals loss today or tomorrow, will be guaranteed to still be in first place even if we lose when I go Monday. (Given my lifetime record, this is quite likely.)

Still, for now, the Dickey's karma still holds.
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